


Respectful Discourse on Power Dynamics in the Workplace

by daystarsearcher



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Multi, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:05:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5820685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daystarsearcher/pseuds/daystarsearcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liz thought that she and the Doctor were sharing the Brigadier. The Brigadier thought he and the Doctor were sharing Liz. The Doctor thought his two lovely humans were sharing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respectful Discourse on Power Dynamics in the Workplace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ravenskyewalker's Three/Liz/Brig prompt at dw_straybunnies.
> 
> Doctor Who is the property of the BBC and I receive no profit by writing this, more's the pity.

It all started with confusion.

Liz thought that she and the Doctor were sharing the Brigadier. The Brigadier thought he and the Doctor were sharing Liz. The Doctor thought his two lovely humans were sharing him.

One otherwise slow mid-afternoon in the U.N.I.T. laboratory, matters came to a head.

xxxxx

“I should have thought it was obvious, Brigadier,” Liz said, arching the eyebrow she always arched when she thought things were obvious. This ended up being a great deal of the time, but in all fairness, she was a genius. “The Doctor and I share a scientific background, a laboratory, a loathing for all thing military and bureaucratic, and biscuits from the canteen. Why wouldn’t we share you?”

The Brigadier opened his mouth to speak.

“And if the next words out of your mouth are ‘because you’re the woman,’ I will be _very miffed_.”

“Course not! But—naturally, I assumed…well, a gentleman’s agreement—“

“Oh, you!” she snapped, throwing her hands up in the air. “I suppose you think you’re just passing me back and forth like, like—like a handkerchief!”

“Now, Miss Shaw, there’s no need to be vulgar—“

“Oh, _isn’t_ there—“

It really was fascinating, the Doctor mused to himself as the argument raged on (and Liz and Lethbridge-Stewart started not only shouting but also obliterating what little conception of personal space they had ever had to begin with), all the physiological changes humans went through when angered. Heightened adrenaline, tensed muscles, narrowed eyes. Faster, heavier breathing, increased sweat production—Alistair was starting to go an entrancing shade of pink, and Liz’s curls were sticking to her temples in a terribly distracting fashion. Made a fellow want to stroke them over her ear, possibly kissing it as he did so. Or kissing her forehead. Or kissing Alistair, if only to stop that god-awful bellowing.

He then became aware that the god-awful bellowing had, in fact, stopped; also, that the subjects of his scrutiny were now scrutinizing him.

“Well, Doctor?” the Brigadier asked.

“Yes,” Liz Shaw added, tapping her foot. “Well?”

Apparently he had been asked a question.

“I don’t know what you’re looking at me for,” he said, lounging back against the counter. He did this purely to rest his legs, and in no way because he knew the angle would make him look rather dashing and devil-may-care and thus cause Liz’s eyes to gleam and Alistair to unconsciously lick his lips, yes, just like that. “Unless you’re prepared to stop being ridiculous and agree that I’m the one being shared. I’m the one you complain about each other to, after all, and on a purely mathematical basis I am the one who most often winds up as the ‘filling in the sandwich.’”

There was a pause in which Liz failed to hide a smile behind her hand and the Brigadier’s face froze in an expression that suggested he was engaged in the complicated business of rearranging all the bits of mental furniture necessary to never hear that sentence again, even in his memories. 

“Look,” he finally spluttered. “It can’t be you, Doctor. It just can’t.”

“My dear fellow, whyever not? Is it because I’m male? Oh for heaven’s sake, man, don’t be absurd. It’s the twentieth century!” The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Oh, very well. You can always top from now on, and only kiss Liz, and we’ll all pretend that means something other than the fact that you’re a stubborn, hide-bound, repressed—”

Liz gave up the effort of hiding her smile behind her hand completely, though in deference to the Brigadier’s tender feelings she did choke down the giggles. Well, most of them.

“It’s not—that,” the Brigadier managed to force out. His voice was pained. “It’s—” He took a breath, continued in clipped tones. “It would be taking advantage. You are not simply a member of U.N.I.T.; you are in exile, with nowhere else to go. I don’t wish you to feel…pressured. Extorted.”

He looked away, focused on a clipboard on the wall. There was a long silence.

“This has been bothering you for quite some time, hasn’t it?” the Doctor asked quietly.

He shrugged, still not meeting their eyes.

“Alistair.” The Doctor’s voice was like a touch, and when he followed it by cupping the Brigadier’s cheek, the other man had no choice but to return his gaze. “That really is rather sweet of you.”

“Terribly condescending,” Liz added dryly, winding her arms around the Brigadier from behind, “but sweet.”

“Indeed,” the Doctor said with a smile. "Allow me to reassure you I am here entirely of my own free will." And then he was kissing Alistair, slow and steady and fond. He slipped his tongued into Alistair’s mouth, and the other man groaned.

The Doctor pulled away slightly and raised his eyebrows over the Brigadier’s shoulder at Liz and then grinned at whatever responses she’d sent back, and it wasn’t as if Alistair was _jealous_ of these private nearly-telepathic conversations they had but—oooooh. And then Liz was up on her tiptoes, breasts pressed firmly against his back, deft fingers unknotting his tie, her tongue doing marvelous and almost certainly illegal things to his neck and earlobe, while the Doctor sank to his knees in front of him…

“Told you so,” Liz whispered in his ear, hot puffs of air against his skin, and the Brigadier liked to think that he would have made a scathing rebuttal had the Doctor not chosen that moment to finish undoing his trousers and taken him into his mouth.

Liz stopped grinding against him and he groaned as she slipped away and tried to reach for her, but the Doctor caught him by the shirttails and pulled him back into place, renewing his efforts with such vigor that Alistair had to grab him by the shoulders to keep balance. The Doctor sucked, and licked, and laved, and—

\-- _stopped_ , the complete _bastard_.

“A stepping stool, Liz?”

“You may not have noticed, Doctor, but he is rather tall.”

Alistair barely had time to look over his shoulder before her fingers entered him. He jumped, both from the shock and the coldness of the lube. “Miss Shaw!”

She smirked, and gave her fingers a little twist. “So formal.”

He glanced down, and there was a flash of heat like deep-buried magma throughout his whole body when he saw what she was wearing below her waist. She’d lubed that up as well.

“You’re going to sprain your neck like that,” she told him, and her eyebrow was raised but her tone wasn’t near as mocking as it could be; almost gentle. She was waiting for his permission.

He risked straining his neck just a bit more to kiss her, her lips warm and avid and sure, and then he gave it, turning away and bending forward to rest his hands on the Doctor’s shoulders again—but the Doctor was moving now to sit on the edge of the countertop, and so Alistair braced himself against the stainless steel to either side of the Doctor’s thighs as Liz entered him—

“Oh,” he whispered, his eyes nearly fluttering shut. “ _Oh._ ”

“Try not to break him, m’dear.”

“I know what I’m doing, Doctor.”

“Yes, that’s quite clear.” There was a rasp of zipper teeth as the Doctor freed his cock, and began stroking himself, inches away, close enough for Alistair to—he could feel the heat of the Doctor’s eyes, on him and on Liz, and he felt like a performing whore but—Liz pushed deeper— _oh god it felt so good_ —

“You know, there is a fourth option,” the Doctor said. His hand still sliding up and down his shaft. “That we haven’t considered. We could both be yours.”

 _Yes,_ thought Alistair but then Liz said, “In your dreams, Doctor,” and so he scoffed instead.

“Or hers.” The hand moved faster, and rougher, and so did Liz. _Yes_.

“Or mine.”

 _Yes_. And then there was no talking, but a great deal of grunting, moaning, gasping, and one rather embarrassing but entirely justifiable squeak from Liz when the Brigadier shifted and the strap-on pressed suddenly against her clit when she hadn’t been expecting it; Alistair’s snickering swiftly repaid with an increase in tempo, speed, and force until she came. And then and _only_ then did she have mercy, reaching around and fondling him until he came with a shout and collapsed against the Doctor, which proved enough to trigger the Time Lord’s own release.

After she caught her breath, Liz leaned over the Brigadier to kiss the Doctor. It was a deceptively simple kiss that nonetheless managed to go on for quite some time and convey a variety of different messages, including _well done, us_ and _thank you_ and _you’re welcome, thank you too_ and _I wish we could stay like this forever._

“If you’re quite finished congratulating each other, Miss Shaw,” Lethbridge-Stewart said, “this position is getting just a _bit_ uncomfortable.”

They went on snogging for another fifteen seconds, just to rile him up.

xxxxx

In the end, regarding the whole matter of who was sharing whom, it was decided that it was probably best to agree to disagree. At least once a day, possibly more if exceptionally good lines of reasoning were brought up.

After all, it wouldn’t do to admit that it was a ridiculous argument and they all cared about each other very much. 

Not after they’d invested so much effort in it.


End file.
